“Hmmm. Yeah, I get that. But you can’t hide away forever. Liam and I were thinking of driving into the city this weekend. Let’s plan to have dinner.”
“No.” I didn’t mean to sound as adamant as I did, but Vincent and I were meeting this weekend at an inn halfway between his house and mine. We hadn’t seen each other since Ava and Liam’s wedding, and after several other phone sex sessions—I was definitely not a virgin anymore—we were desperate to see each other. To be together. We might have agreed that sex shouldn’t be the only reason for us to like each other, but it was a damn important part of the equation, too.
“Oh.” Ava sounded taken aback. “Are you busy? I mean . . . we can be flexible. If we can’t have dinner, maybe we could meet for breakfast or lunch. We haven’t all been together in one place since the wedding, and we haven’t gotten to celebrate Giff and Jeff’s engagement.”
I felt like a jerk now. “It’s not that I don’t want to see you, Ava. I miss you guys, too. And I’m so excited for Giff and Jeff. But I really do already have a commitment this weekend. Could we try for next weekend, instead?”
She was quiet for a second. “Sure. I’ll check with Liam and see if that works for him.”
“Okay, and I’ll do the same with Giff. If it all pans out, let’s have dinner next Saturday at that kitschy little Asian fusion spot over by Penn. We can drink sake and toast the boys.”
“That would be fun.” Ava paused for a beat. “Amanda, I’m going to ask you this, and you don’t have to answer. Did my dickhead brother do something to make you mad? I saw you two dancing at the reception, and then Ange said that she thought Vince drove you to your hotel. I hoped . . . but if he was a jerk, I’m really sorry. He’s just—Vince.”
“Oh.” I laughed, stalling. “No, of course not.” I hated the idea of lying to my friends, and I was skirting dangerously near that edge now. “He’s not so bad.”
“Well, you don’t know him like I do. He made my life miserable when I was growing up. Any time a boy would even look at me, there was Vince, glowering. My first date, he took the poor kid aside and threatened him with loss of life if he tried to kiss me.” She snorted. “Meanwhile, he was nailing anything in a skirt from the time he was a freshman. Talk about double standards.”
“Awww, he was a good big brother.” I smiled, picturing Vincent cracking his knuckles as he intimidated Ava’s potential boyfriends.
“Yeah, he had his moments.” Ava sighed. “After Antonia . . . well, when she got pregnant, Vince was furious. Not at her—Vince always had a soft spot for Antonia—but at Frankie’s father, Mark. He beat him up. Ma was afraid Mark might press charges, get Vince in trouble, but he didn’t. I guess he knew he’d screwed up, and maybe he realized he’d gotten a little of what was coming to him.”
My heart hurt a little for Vincent, at the same time that I was proud of him for standing up for his sister. Antonia had gotten pregnant in high school, I recalled. Ava had given me the short version of the story one day when I’d been visiting, and she’d been babysitting her niece, Frankie. A drunk driver had hit Antonia’s car one night when Frankie was just an infant, killing Ava’s sister immediately. I knew that it was a tragedy that it had scarred the tight-knit DiMartino family.
“I can’t imagine what it must be like, to have a protective brother.” I’d wished for a big brother when I was little. It had always seemed like the best kind of sibling to want. But my feelings toward Vincent were far from fraternal.
“It’s not a bad thing, and the truth is, I love the big lunk. Carl, too—but you know, Carl’s more like my father. There’s a quiet strength there. Vincent’s more like a male version of Ma, I guess. Protective to a fault, and not afraid to say what’s on his mind—but someone you definitely want on your side all the time.”
“True.” I smiled, thinking of the way he’d held onto me that night at the beach.
“Um, Amanda? I asked you if Vincent had done something to annoy you, but . . . maybe I should’ve been asking the opposite question.”
I played dumb. “You mean, did I do something to piss him off? Hmmm. I don’t think so. You’d have to ask Vincent, though.”
“That’s not what I meant, smartass, and you know it. Is something going on between you and my idiot brother?”
For a few moments, I didn’t reply. Back after our hook-up, I’d stayed mute about what had happened, because it wasn’t supposed to go anywhere or mean anything. But now . . . I couldn’t lie outright to Ava.
“We’re . . . friends.” It felt odd to say that, but I realized as I spoke the words that they were true. “I like Vincent. So, yeah. We’re friends.”
“Just friends?” Ava wasn’t going to let this go.
“Why do people say that? Just friends? That’s terrible. Would you say I’m just your friend?” I wondered if I could distract her with semantics.
“Considering that in English, that phrase is idiomatic and means two people who like each other but aren’t currently bumping uglies, then yes, I’d say we are just friends. Because I think you’re gorgeous, and you’re plenty sexy, honey, but I’m pretty sure we’ve never had sex. Also, stop trying to get me off track here. Tell me the truth. Is Vince putting the moves on you?”
“Did you ever think maybe it was me putting the moves on your poor innocent brother?” I countered.
“Totally. You’re badass, Amanda. And maybe if I was talking to my brother, I’d ask him if that were the case. But from the way you’re evading and eluding, I’m assuming that he’s the instigator here. Now, having said that, I’m not going to lie to you. I’m ninety-nine percent sure you two were together after my engagement party, so the idea that Vincent pursued you after that—well, it’s kind of mind-blowing. Is this really just a friends thing, or are you guys gettin’ jiggy?”
“Ava.” I didn’t know whether to giggle or to groan. “This is your brother you’re talking about. I don’t intend to talk about our sex life with you.”
“Aha!” she shrieked. “So there is a sex life to discuss?”
“So, Ava,” I said loudly. “We’ll plan for dinner next week. I’ll call Giff, and then I’ll text you to confirm.”
“No way, Amanda! You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I want the details. Are you serious? Are you exclusive? Do you plan—”
“Look at the time! Gotta run. Love you, Ave, hug Liam for me, see you next week.” I hit end on my phone and dropped it onto the table as though she might yet reach through to make me talk.
I took a few deep breaths to calm myself before I ventured to pick up the phone again, this time to text.
Amanda: So your sister just brow beat me into admitting that something is going on between us. I’m sorry. I couldn’t lie to her.
I waited a while, because I knew that this time of the afternoon, he was busy putting the final touches on the evening’s desserts for Cucina Felice. Meanwhile, I turned Professor Nesbit back on and tried to concentrate. When my phone buzzed, I glanced at the screen and grinned.
Vincent: She’s a pain in the ass, isn’t she? I guess that’s why I have three missed calls from her.
I winced, wondering if he was truly pissed off.
Amanda: I’m really sorry. I tried to change the subject, but . . .
Vincent: Hey, I’m not worried. I know you wanted to keep us on the QT though. Sorry my sister is a nag.
Now my smile was even wider. I’d been seriously concerned that Vincent might be annoyed that I’d spilled the beans to his sister.
Amanda: I’m relieved. I thought you might be pissed and want to cancel this weekend.
Vincent: No fucking way. I have plans for you this weekend, baby. So I don’t care who knows what or how or when. It’s just you and me . . .
Amanda: And hours of meaningful conversation about life and other existential topics?;)
Vincent: If by conversation, you mean sweaty sex, sure.
Amanda: I thought we were about more than sex.
Vincent: We are. Bu
t more than implies sex is there. So you have the sex first, and then you add on the more than. I promise, babe, I’ll talk to you while I’m balls deep inside that tight, sweet pussy of yours.
Amanda: You sweet-talker, you. You’re setting my heart a-flutter.
Vincent: That’s not all I want fluttering. Shit, I gotta go. I have to pipe some cannoli for a tray that’s going out in a few minutes. Talk tonight?
Amanda: Talk, yes. Phone sex, no. I’ve decided since we’re going to be having all the sweaty sex this weekend, I’m saving myself.
Vincent: That’s cool. We’ll have some of that meaningful conversation.
Amanda: Good idea.
Vincent: I do my best conversations when I’m naked, btw. Just so you know.
Amanda: Of course you do.
“This is the most romantic place I’ve ever been.” Across the table from me, Amanda’s smile was brilliant. “You did a good job, Vincent.”
I glanced around the dining room of the old inn. I’d been here before to eat, but I’d never made use of the quaint bed and breakfast side of the business. When Amanda and I had been trying to work out the best way to see each other around her schedule and mine, I’d remembered The Crestview Inn, and happily for us, they’d had a room available this weekend. It was perfect; just about equidistant from my house and the city, staying here meant that we didn’t have to deal with distractions like family or friends or work or school. That was a winning proposition in my book.
“The food’s good.” I took another bite of my steak. “And our room is nicer than I’d expected. Usually old and charming equals dated and worn.”
“Not always.” She cut a little bit of her chicken breast. “I’ve been to lots of places older than this that are beautifully preserved. And as I said, this is romantic. I like it.”
I felt the same pang of discomfort that I often did when Amanda mentioned how well-traveled she was. I didn’t feel inferior to anyone. I knew that my skill set and my brain were a match for any challenger, plus I was fully aware that more often than not, common sense trumped book knowledge, and I had that in spades. But my life so far hadn’t offered much opportunity to roam the world, seeing as I spent the majority of my time in the same kitchen I had since I was a toddler.
Amanda, on the other hand, spoke about far-off cities and remote countries as casually as she did Delaware. She didn’t do it like she was bragging; I’d discovered early on that there was nothing snobby or elitist about her. It was simply her life, as much a part of her growing up as gnocchi and grappa had been part of mine. Still, I wasn’t always sure what to say when she mentioned a summer vacation in Greece or a spring break in Scotland. My getaways in Atlantic City or Florida didn’t really compare.
So instead now, I focused on something else. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a romance girl. You’re not like Ava or Angela, going on about books or movies, with all the sighing and dreamy men and shit.”
Amanda leaned her chin onto her hand and studied me thoughtfully. “I’m not really a typical girl, I guess, when it comes to that sort of thing. I’ve always been the woman who makes fun of what others think are romantic. I dated a guy once who was all about the big gestures—you know, flowers on every occasion, even if it wasn’t really one, gifts on all the Hallmark holidays, making a big deal of sweeping me off to New York City for dinner and a show . . . and it meant nothing to me. I felt bad about it at first, because he’d put all this time and effort into doing something that he thought would please me, and instead, I felt like yawning. It was just too much, you know? It made me feel like squirming.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I can see you doing that. Rolling your eyes and making smartass comments. But the bigger question is . . . did he back up all the flowery shit with moves in the bedroom?”
Her green eyes sparkled with barely contained mirth. “How’d you guess? Nope. He was less than stellar there. Big build up, disappointing delivery.”
“See? That’s why it’s better to be real and not worry about flowers and poetry and shit. You already know I come through where it counts.” I set down my fork and winked at her. “Multiple times, even.”
“You’re not wrong,” she agreed, a little bit of pink staining her cheeks. “But this kind of romance, the kind where you find the perfect spot for us to meet and have a weekend to ourselves . . . that’s perfect.”
“I aim high.” I held her gaze as I finished my wine. “Speaking of romance, I hear Giff finally popped the question. I bet he pulled out all the stops.”
“He did.” I wasn’t sure she even knew she was doing it, but Amanda smiled dreamily and folded her hands. “I was in on the secret, so I knew when it was happening, and I was sitting by the phone all night, waiting to hear that he’d said yes. I think Jeff was completely shocked, but of course, he did say yes. One of the waiters is an old friend of Giff’s and took pictures for them, so I got to live vicariously. It was beautiful. I’m so happy for them.”
“Is he going to plan his own wedding?” I figured that would be tricky, but knowing Giff, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t pull off.
“Not really. They’re doing a destination wedding, getting married in the islands. Date to be determined, depending on Giff’s schedule of events, but I don’t think they’ll wait too long. I’ve been invited to go along to be best woman for Giff, and Jeff’s taking his brother, too. Other than Giff’s mom and Jeff’s parents, I don’t think they’ll invite anyone else, unless Ava and Liam can get away.”
I frowned. “So it would be just you, the parents and Jeff’s brother? Is he single?”
Amanda cocked an eyebrow at me. “He is, yes. And just as cute as Jeff is. He’s kind of a party boy, though—he’s the younger brother, and Jeff says he’s with a different woman every week. He’s a real flirt.”
I didn’t like the feeling I was getting right now—a sense of wanting to somehow brand Amanda as mine, to claim her in a weird I had her first way. I’d never been the jealous type, probably because I’d never stuck around long enough for that to be an issue.
“Are you allowed to bring a date to this wedding?” I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. “I’ve never been to the islands. It sounds like it could be fun.”
This time, Amanda’s smile was almost blinding. “Seriously? You’d want to come with me? I’d love that, Vincent. I don’t know when it is yet, but I didn’t think you’d be able to get away from the restaurant that long. I knew it was hard enough just for these two nights.” She paused. “I also wasn’t sure you’d be interested.”
“You, me and a tropical setting? Sounds like a hell, yeah to me.” I lined up my fork with the knife on my plate, keeping my eyes on the silverware as I spoke, not sure of what I really wanted to say. “We haven’t really talked about this thing between us—not since the wedding. But just so you know, in case you were wondering, I’m not seeing anyone else. I haven’t even looked at another woman since that night.”
She leaned forward and slid her palm under mine. “Are you asking if we’re exclusive, Vincent? Because if you are, from my point of view the answer is yes. I haven’t seen or slept with anyone else, either. I don’t have plans to do so, as long as we’re . . . whatever we are. Friends and then some, I guess.”
“Good.” I was more emphatic than I intended to be, but I hoped that maybe she’d understand what I wanted her to know. “That means if you’re running off to the islands with anyone, it’s me. And same goes on my side. Not that I’m planning to run off to any islands, but if I did, I’d take you with me.”
“Who says romance is dead?” she teased. “Look at you, Vincent DiMartino. Holding hands at a candle-lit restaurant after a wonderful dinner . . . it just doesn’t get any more romantic than that, babe.” She lowered her voice. “Now let’s hope it doesn’t take away from your performance upstairs, because let me tell you—I’m horny as hell and my expectations are sky-high. Our phone sex raised the bar, and now I’m pretty sure you’re only going to have t
o touch me once before I go off.”
I grinned. It hadn’t been easy to keep from throwing Amanda across the bed the minute we’d opened the door to our room, when I’d carried up our bags, but I’d managed to hold myself in check, mostly because I didn’t just want a fast bang from this woman. Not anymore. Plus, I was thinking that once we hit the sheets, we might not end up getting out of bed for the rest of the weekend, and I didn’t want her to miss the food here.
But now, dinner was over, and the small glimpses I kept getting of her tits through her low neckline when she leaned forward had my dick straining against the zipper of my fly.
“How was everything?” Our server appeared at my elbow, reaching for my empty plate. “I hope the steak was done as you liked it.”
“It was perfect, thanks.” I smiled my thanks as the guy cleared our table with smooth movements. Being in the business, I noticed details like how he arranged the silverware to make sure nothing slid off the plates and how he was careful to avoid spilling anything on Amanda. I’d been trained in the art of bussing tables by my mother, and Frannie DiMartino never missed a trick. She’d had me on table-clearing duty for most of my pre-teen years, until I was able to accomplish the task with skill.
“May I bring you our dessert tray? The chef has a few tempting specials tonight.” The waiter gave us a wink. “I can personally vouch for the Black Forest cake. It’s amazing.”
Before Amanda could reply, I spoke up. “Thanks, but I’ve got dessert covered. Just the check when you get a chance, please.”
He nodded, and I saw the twinkle of understanding in his eye. “Sure thing. Be right with you.”
“Hey, that cake sounded delicious. Did you ever think that maybe I wanted to try it?” Amanda gave me a quelling glare, complete with raised eyebrows.
“Baby, I brought you a special dessert. I made it for you today, while I was thinking about tonight and being with you. It’s upstairs, waiting for us in our room. And I can promise you that it’s better than any fucking Black Forest cake.”
She gave a huff of laughter, but I knew she was intrigued. “Cocky as always, Vincent. I don’t like it when people—men in particular—presume they know better about what I want than I do.”
Just Roll With It (A Perfect Dish Book 4) Page 13
